The Mediator
by Kelsie R. T
Summary: Pre-Series: Dean Winchester has always taken his role as the family mediator very seriously, no matter what state he is in. His father and brother's constant bickering will be the death of him. What will it take to stop all the fighting? He is about to find out when an angry spirit puts his life in danger.
1. The Mediator

He sighed as he sighted the glowing figures on the clock. It was already 3 a.m. and he had yet to finish his revision for the test, which would be held in a few hours' time. Sam turned away from his books to study the still figure on the bed. Jess was sleeping soundly while he studied on, the privilege of being an art student, or anything but a law student. Sam rubbed his watering eyes and checked his phone. He had not expected any text messages or phone calls at this ungodly hour, and was shocked to realize that he had three missed calls and two voicemail messages, all from the same number.

Sam froze as his tired brain recognized the number. It was his father, John. It has been a little more than a year since he had seen his father, since Sam had walked out on his family and came to Stanford.

The fact that the old man was calling him was unnerving. Something bad must have happened, for John to willingly contact his runaway son. Sam's stomach dropped at the thought. His fingers hovered above the 'Play Messages' button, terrified of the news he was going to receive.

A sudden knocking broke Sam out of his reverie. It took a few seconds for him to register that the sound came from the front door, and another few more for him to realize that he should probably get that before it woke Jess up. Dropping his phone back onto the table, Sam strode over to the door and looked through the peephole. A familiar face greeted him, a face that he had missed every day ever since he left for college.

"Dean!" Sam called out as he wrenched the wooden door open, almost detaching it from its hinges. Before Dean could say anything, Sam wrapped his long hands around his big brother.

"Hey Sammy," Dean gasped, "can't…breath…dude."

"Sorry…I…Dean! It's so great to see you! Dude, what the hell? You could have called before you decided to drop by for a visit at 3 in the morning!" Sam loosened his iron grip around Dean and took a step back. Sam took in the haggard appearance of his brother, how sickly pale he looked in the moonlight.

"Are you alright? Is dad alright? He left messages and I haven't got the chance to…," Sam furrowed his brows. If he suspected that something was wrong before, he was pretty sure of it now.

"Yea Sammy, dad's alright. He called you? Wow, that's a first," Dean smiled, but the smile did not reach his weary eyes. "I missed you too, Sam," Dean patted Sam in the chest and proceeded to invite himself into the house. Sam was well aware that Dean had neglected to answer the first question.

"You got a roomie?" Dean pointed to the room where the soft snoring wafted from.

"Um…yeah…yeah. Jessica, my girlfriend," Sam replied absentmindedly, the dread in him growing darker by the minute. Dean grinned and wiggled his finger at his little brother, "Sam, Sam, Sam."

Dean picked up a framed photo of the young couple and grinned even wider, "Wonder what does a girl like her sees in you, little brother. She's way beyond…"

"What's wrong, Dean? Why are you here?" Sam refused to let Dean's digression distract him.

Dean's grin faltered, "Nothing, Sam. What? I can't visit my big-shot-lawyer-to-be little bro? Got a beer?"

"Dean, something is obviously wrong. I'm not an idiot. Just…just tell me. And no I don't have time for a beer. I've got this test tomorrow and…" Sam stopped as he spotted the hurt surface in his brother's eyes.

"Well, I'm sorry to have bothered you at all, nerd. Guess I'll just see myself out. Won't want you to start failing your tests now, do we?" Dean rose from the couch.

"No…shit, I didn't mean that. Just sit. I don't have beer, will juice do?" Sam pushed Dean back down onto the couch and fetched two glasses of orange juice from the kitchen.

Sam watched as his brother sipped from the glass. "What?" Dean snapped. He hated being watched.

"Dude, you look like crap," Sam shook his head, "so are you gonna tell me what's wrong or not?"

Dean ignored him and took another sip of his drink. "You remember the time when we switched dad's beers into OJ? He was so mad after he realized that his beer tasted funny," Dean beamed at the memory.

"Yeah, I remember. We had to do a hundred push-ups and a hundred laps for that," Sam was really getting freaked out.

"You know, I can't believe I'm saying this but I actually missed waking up to you and dad yelling in each other's face. You know, and you bitching about everything. After you left, everything was just too quiet. Dad missed you too. Of course, he'll rather die than admit it. He's proud of you, Sam," Dean smiled sadly.

"What…you're scaring me, Dean," Sam choked. His brother was initiating a chick-flick moment. That never happens.

"Dad, he can be real stubborn sometimes. And so can you. I guess that's why you two keep going at each other, because you two are so much alike. I know you never wanted to live the way we did. And Dad knows it too, but he was just too scared of losing us, he didn't dare to let us go. He's just doing what he thinks is best. He tried his best, Sam," Dean continued, ignoring the flustered look on his brother's face.

"Dean, stop. Please," Sam grabbed his brother's shoulder and forced Dean to look at him, "tell me what's wrong."

"See what I mean? You two really are bossy sons of bitches. Relax Sam, it'll be okay. Just promise me something," Dean swept Sam's hand away from his shoulder. Sam flinched at the coldness of Dean's hand.

Sam grabbed the cool hand, "Dean! What the hell! You're so cold. Are you sick?"

"What? No, Florence. You try standing out there and knocking for god knows how long. You were given extra long legs but I swear a ninety-year old midget can move faster than you do, sasquatch," Dean pulled his hand away.

"Don't interrupt me, just listen alright. I need you to promise me something," Dean sighed and continued, "Don't blame dad, for any of this. You know the saying: 'When life gives you monsters, you just have to pick up a gun and shoot the evil son of a bitch dead'. Our family's cursed, we're never meant to have a normal life, Sam, ever since that thing killed mom. Dad wanted to keep you close, because he wanted to keep you safe. Don't…don't hate him, Sammy."

Sam was speechless, eyes wide and glued to his out-of-character big brother. Why did it sound so much like goodbye? He was still immobile with worry as Dean stood up and headed towards the door.

"And as you already know, I'm proud of you too, geek boy. Make sure you ace your test, you hear?" Dean smirked as he closed the door behind him.

"No, Dean! Wait!" Sam sprinted outside, but there was no sign of Dean. "Dean?" he called out.

"What's the matter, Sam?" Jess yawned from the door.

"I don't know," Sam ran his hand through his hair. Where had Dean gone? He was no more than a few seconds behind Dean. Unless…

Sam darted back into his room and grabbed his phone: Three voicemail messages. He selected the first one. His eyes welled up as he heard the distraught voice of his father. John was always so calm and composed. He knew the words that would follow.

"Sam? Sammy? Dad here. It's…it's Dean. He's hurt. I don't…Yes, I'm John Winchester, how's my…"

It took a few tries for Sam's shaky fingers to select the second message. He was vaguely aware of Jess' comforting hand on his back.

"What's wrong?" She asked softly, rubbing Sam's back.

"Dean. He's hurt," Sam groaned.

"Hey Sammy, they just wheeled Dean into surgery. They aren't telling me anything. We weren't even hunting…he was just out getting supplies and this…this drunk driver…that son of a bitch…"

The third message was recorded after Dean visited him. Sam braced himself for the worse, took a deep breath and held the phone back onto his ear.

"Sam? It's dad again. They uh…Dean's stable now. They almost lost him but he's gonna be okay now. I know you probably don't want to talk to me but call me, will ya?"

Sam let out a breath that he was not aware he was holding. Dean's alright, that was all that mattered. Hesitating whether he should call his father up, he looked up at Jess. "You should call him back, Sam," Jess encouraged.

"Hello? Sam?" John spoke at the first ring.

"Hey dad. Um…how's Dean?" Sam drummed his fingers nervously on the table top. It was the first time that he had talked to his father ever since he ditched his family for Stanford.

"Hey, he's ah..he's fine now. He hasn't woken up yet but they're confident that he'll be okay. And uh..how..how's school?" John was never good at small talk.

"Good. That's good. School's good too. Where are you? I can swing by in a few days, you can rest for a while…" Silence followed Sam's suggestion. He cringed inwardly, expecting his offer to be turned down.

"It's okay, Sammy. Take care of yourself," John was about to disconnect the awkward conversation when Sam spoke again.

"Wait, dad! I saw him…Dean. Before…before I got the messages," Sam declared.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know how…he was here, at my house. Like he was really here," Sam struggled to describe what really happened. What exactly happened?

"You mean like a spirit?"

"Yea, I think. Dean doesn't want us to fight anymore, dad. It's killing him to see his family fall apart. Not that we were the most cohesive family ever, but…" Sam chuckled humorlessly.

"I know, Sammy. He begged me to go visit you, or call you, after you left. And I just ignored him every damn time," John sighed.

"It's alright, dad. Let me come, I should be there. Dean would want me to be there, even though he'd never admit it," Sam tried again.

"Alright then," John conceded and recited the hospital's address.

"Great, I'll be there by tomorrow evening. Thanks dad, for calling," Sam nodded. John Winchester let out a gruff grunt of approval before hanging up.

"How do you feel about meeting my family?" Sam turned to Jess, whose face lit up like a kid on Christmas.

* * *

Thanks for staying with the story till the end!  
Stay tuned! More chapters coming soon..

-Kelsie


	2. The Visit

"Like a spirit?" John's words resonated in Sam's skull as he stared blankly at the long, straight road in front of him. If that was really Dean's spirit he was talking to, does that mean that Dean was dead? The thought of his brother's heart stopping terrified him. Dean cannot die, he is the awesome big bad brother, and he is invincible.

"You doing okay there, Sam?" Jess glanced briefly at him before turning her attention back to the road.

"Yea. Yea, just worried. I mean, dad didn't tell me much. And there's like a thousand possibilities running through my mind right now," Sam rubbed his tired eyes.

"You didn't sleep at all last night, you should nap for a while, I'll wake you up when we're there," Jess suggested, noting the bags beneath Sam's eyes. Sam nodded and rested his head against the cool glass window.

* * *

"I saw Dean." John recalled the conversation with his youngest, while sipping on his cup of steaming hot coffee. Normal parents would have thought that their son had gone delusional while studying too hard, but John was not like any normal parent. In their world, anything is possible. Besides, Dean's heart was stopped for the surgery.

The thought of his son lying on the table without a beating heart terrified John. His sons were all he had left.

"Mr Winchester?" John walked over to the doctor, who just exited from Dean's ward.

"So?" John demanded. He had been waiting out in the hallway while the doctor checked on Dean, who had just woken up.

"There isn't any complication from the surgery, and his vitals are looking good. He's still a little weak, but he'll be fine. Your son's a fighter," the doctor clapped a hand on John's shoulder.

"Thanks doc," John sighed with relief.

* * *

"Can you tell me your name?" The stranger asked.

"Um…Dean. W…Where's my dad?" Dean closed his eyes. The unfocused images and diffused lights were making his head swim.

"Okay, do you know where you are?"

Dean wished that the stranger would just shut up and leave him alone. What's with the hundred questions?

"Yea, hospital. Where's my dad?"

"Outside. He's waiting out in the corridor. Do you remember what happened?"

He was really thirsty, tired and everything hurt. Waking up was a bad idea, so Dean tried to find his way back to the blissful unconsciousness. The doctor can shove his hundred questions up his own pie-hole.

"Dean. Do you remember what happened?"

"Hmm?" Dean frowned. Why won't the idiot just leave him alone?

"Are you in any pain?"

"Mmm," he sighed.

"Alright, I'll let you rest for a bit. I'll check on you again in the evening," the doctor gave further instructions to the nurse before leaving the room.

"So?" Dean recognized his father's voice. Dad was with him, everything would be alright. Where was Sammy? Was Sammy alright? Right, little brother was at Stanford.

"Thanks doc." He could hear his father settling down next to the bed.

"Dean?" John ran his hand lightly through his son's hair.

"Mmm," Dean relaxed at his father's touch. Dad would make everything alright. He could sleep now.

* * *

"Winchester. You know, like the rifle," Sam repeated the name to the personnel at the hospital's front desk for the fifth time.

"Huh? Rifle?" the girl stared blankly at him.

"W-I-N-C-H-E-S-T-E-R. Dean Winchester," Sam was about to explode. If not for Jess' soothing hand holding his, he would have leaped over the counter and searched the information for himself.

"Oh yes. There's a Dean Winchester, level 8, Ward 812," the girl seemed extremely pleased with herself.

"Thank you," Sam exhaled exasperatedly.

They stopped by the cafeteria before going up to level 8. Sam reckoned that his father must have missed his dinner while staying with Dean. Taking care of himself had never been high on John's list of priorities when his sons were sick.

Sam took a deep breath before he walked into Ward 812. It had been a year since he saw his family, and he was not sure what to expect. He found both of them sound asleep. Dean was motionless on the bed, with John slumped uncomfortably in the chair next to him. Jess motioned that she would wait outside.

"Dad?" Sam shook John's shoulders lightly.

John's hunter reflex kicked in as his eyes snapped open and he grabbed the hand on his shoulder.

"Ow…dad! It's me, Sam," Sam exclaimed. Having been living a normal life for a year, he had momentarily forgotten that he should never touch a sleeping hunter.

"Sam?" Dean stirred. Both of them turned to Dean, who had fallen asleep again.

"Let's talk outside," John got up and stretched his stiff body.

"We bought you dinner, figured you must be hungry," Sam handed over the bag of sandwiches once they were outside.

"We?" John raised his eyebrows.

"Oh yeah…this is my girlfriend, Jess," Sam took Jess' hand in his, "How is he? What happened? What are the doctors saying?"

"Mr Winchester," Jess greeted. John nodded slightly at his son's girlfriend and turned to Sam.

"He was crossing the road to the car, and I watched as the truck...," John swallowed before he continued, "anyway, he was concussed, got some internal bleeding and they had to do heart surgery. But the doctor said he's looking good now."

Sam thought that Dean looked anything but good. Even in the dimmed lights, Dean looked ill. "Wait…heart surgery? Why would he need heart surgery?" Sam paled a little at his father's narration.

"Oh…um…they said it was a Traumatic Aortic Rupture," John quoted the three words which had made his stomach drop down to his feet back when he was in the emergency room.

"Oh god," Sam gasped. He was taken aback by how close he was to losing his brother. Jess squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"But…but he's going to be okay right?"

* * *

Dean woke up to a dimly lit room which looked nothing like a motel room. Startled, his tried to get up, but the various aches and pains prevented the movement. Dad? Wait…wait, right, hospital. How…a hunt gone sideways? Was it his fault again?

He could make out voices coming from outside the room. One of them belonged to his father. Hearing the presence of his father calmed him. The other voice…sounded so much like Sam. No, it must be one of the hospital staff. Sam was away at school, he would not be here. Sam! He had a weird dream about Sam, about him talking to Sam.

"Weird dream," Dean mumbled to himself.

Dean turned his throbbing head to the side gingerly. He needed water, his mouth felt like a desert. Dean spotted John's cup of coffee and found that it was way out of reach for his battered body.

"Uh…Son of a bitch," Dean muttered.

"Dean!" Sam strode into the room to find his brother gazing longingly at the coffee cup, "Thirsty?"

"Uh…Sam?" Dean's eyes were wide with surprise, "What are you doing here?"

"Well…let's see. Because my brother almost became road kill? Why? You don't want me here? I can go, you know" Sam smirked.

"No, I don't mean…Huh?" Dean stared blankly at his brother. What was he talking about?

"You were hit by a truck. You don't remember?" Sam frowned, "How are you feeling?"

"Huh. Must be a big truck," Dean stared at the new face in the room, "Hey, I know you. You're Jess."

"Yea, I am. Nice to meet you too, Dean," Jess glanced at Sam questioningly. How did Dean know who she was? They have never met.

"Dean, how did you know who she was? I've never…," Sam brought up, before his thoughts went back to Dean's supernatural visit last night.

"Dunno…a photo I think. I don't…bad time to ask me anything, Sammy. Can't really think sss…straight right now. I think…I think I'm gonna nap," Dean's eyelids fluttered close. Dean felt like he had not slept for days.

John regarded Jess briefly before turning to Sam, "I need to talk to you. Alone."

"Whatever you say, you can say it in front of her," Sam replied defiantly.

Dean rolled his eyes beneath his lids. Sam had only been in the same room with John for a few minutes and it was starting again. "Sam…," he sighed.

"Sam, I want to talk to you," John ignored Sam's tone and gestured to the hallway.

Sam was aware of what his father wanted to talk about: His encounter with Dean the night before. He was also aware that he should let Dean get some rest and keep Jess away from the conversation. However, the urge to defy his father whenever he ordered them around like his minions was overwhelming.

"You know, I'm sick of this. Why do you always have to order us around like your little soldiers?" Sam retorted.

"Don't talk to me like that, boy," John warned.

"You first, dad! Stop talking to Dean and me like that," Sam fumed.

"Sam, don't start, Dad, you too. Just…just get out of here, both of you," Dean groaned with his eyes still closed. Why did they have to fight? Why did they have to drag him into it every damn time?

"I'll stay here with him, go," Jess mouthed before Sam followed his father outside.

* * *

"What," Sam asked curtly.

"What? What the hell was that back there? I thought you were the one who said that we shouldn't fight," John fought to keep his volume down. The last thing they need was to be thrown out of the hospital.

"You were…" Sam started and was cut off by his father, "Enough Sam, I want to know what happened last night."

"Do you think it's possible? That it was really him?" Sam folded his arms across his chest as he studied his father's aging features. Even though Sam was still mad at John, there was no denying that he missed his father.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think it was Dean, or a part of him anyway," John looked up into the eyes of his youngest. He swore that Sam had grown even taller since John saw him. God, he missed the kid.

"I'm sorry, dad. For before," Sam sighed, "so what now?"

"I was hoping you could stay with Dean for a few days," John suggested.

"Where are you going?" Sam frowned. What if Sam had not offered to see Dean? His father was going to leave his injured son alone at the hospital?

"I need to go visit someone. It's important Sam," John stated. He was aware of Sam's disapproving gaze.

"It's about hunting isn't it? What can be more important than your son?"

"Dean's safe here at the hospital. Someone has information for me. I've been waiting a long time for this, Sam. I need to go. I am going to go." John explained as if it was the obvious thing to do.

"It's about the thing that killed mom, isn't it? Dean almost died, dad! And you want to leave him for some 'information'!" Sam's voice rose angrily. It had been years, why can't his father just let it go? Mom was gone, and killing the thing was not going to bring mom back.

"He won't be alone. You'll be here."

"And what if I say that I'm not going to stay? Your choice: Go and leave Dean here alone or stay," Sam challenged.

"I'm going, Sam. That's final. Dean will understand," John snapped and walked back into the room for his duffel.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Third part coming soon, and hopefully there'll be a fourth, a fifth and more!

-Kelsie


	3. The Arrangement

"And I thought that I missed hearing them fight," Jess jumped when Dean spoke up.

"He n…never told you about us, did he?" Dean turned to look at Sam's girlfriend. He was tired as hell, but whatever awesome stuff they had given him was starting to wear off, and it was getting too uncomfortable to go back to sleep.

"A little, now and then. Not much," Jess replied, "he did mention that he has an awesome brother."

"Huh. Umm…so, when are you two…umm…getting back?" Dean felt his face getting warm. That Sammy…

"That depends on Sam. I think he'd want to stay for a few more…" Jess paused as both of them heard Sam raise his voice at his father out in the hallway.

"Great. Here we go again," Dean grimaced.

"Should I…"

"Nah, just…just leave them be," Dean needed a distraction, from the pain and the fighting, "Hey, Jess. So how's Sam at school?"

"He's doing great. He's been topping his class for all his tests and examinations. I think he'd make a great lawyer," Jess beamed with pride as she talked about her boyfriend.

"Yeah, I'm sure he will," Dean grinned, "And you? A law student too?"

"God, no! Sam's textbooks are soporific! I pick them up only when I have insomnia. In case you were wondering, Sam and I, we met in the school library. I found him napping and drooling all over his notes."

Dean laughed and gasped when the action pulled at the stitches in his midsection. "Don't…make me laugh," he moaned.

"Dean!" John entered the room to find his son's face screwed up in pain, "Dean! You okay? I'll go get somebody."

"No, no! I'm okay. I'm okay!" Dean grabbed his father's wrist.

"Dean, you don't look okay," Sam stated.

"Yeah well, you go try getting hit by a truck. We'll see how you look then."

"Dean! I was just trying to…" Sam flashed him his infamous bitchface. His brother's tough-guy act drives him insane.

"Yeah yeah, save it. I'm okay, all of you," Dean assured, although he was certain that none of them believed him.

"So, dad. Tell him. Tell him about your plans," Sam said coolly.

"What plans?" Dean stared expectantly at his father, but when he saw John flicker a look of annoyance at Sam, he pounded his fist onto the mattress, "Can't you two just stop it for a moment! Tell me what?"

"I got a call from a hu…" John glanced at Jess, "a friend earlier. He has something important for me, I have to go. You just stay here and get better."

"Sam will stay here with you, won't you Sammy?" John reproached himself inwardly as he saw Dean's face fall. Maybe he could stay here with his son. Maybe…No! He had to go! He needed that thing to be dead! He needed to avenge Mary's death! He needed to protect his boys! Dean will be fine here, and he would be back in three days, tops.

Sam stayed silent and fidgeted on his feet. He should stay here with Dean, he wanted to stay, but there John goes again, giving orders.

"I don't need a babysitter. I'll be fine," Dean forced a smile. He kept telling himself that it was no big deal, but he could not shake the feeling of being abandoned by his family. Great, they just thought of him as a burden, a sick puppy that no one wanted to assume responsibility of.

"Alright, people, it's past visiting hours now, if you don't mind, I need to check him over and he needs to rest," the nurse appeared at the door.

"Just call me if anything goes wrong," John stroked Dean's hair.

"Dad, that's stupid. If anything does go wrong, Dean won't be able to call you then, could he?" Sam stated matter-of-factly.

"He's got a point," Dean smirked. He hated to see his family fighting, but his father's expressions at Sam's smartass remarks were hilarious at times.

"You know what I mean," John could not help but smile too. His boys were impossible.

* * *

"I'll stay, dad. I'll stay with Dean," Sam declared as the three of them walked out into the frigid night.

"I know you will. If he gives you any trouble about wanting to leave, just call me. Take care of yourself Sam," John clapped a hand on Sam's shoulders.

"You be careful too, dad," Sam watched as John climbed into the impala and drove away.

"Shall we go?" Jess buried herself in Sam's gigantic frame. It was freezing out here.

"Great idea. Let's go before we turn into popsicles."

* * *

Greg stood at the foot of Dean's bed. He had searched the whole hospital, and he finally found him. The damn boy that jumped in front of his truck, the last damn face he had seen before his truck slammed into the light pole, his damn killer that orphaned Jane and Elise. He had to act quickly though, he thought to himself. Before his body was claimed from the morgue, before he could not stay here anymore.


	4. The Stubborn Jerks

Greg approached the sleeping figure, and stumbled back when he hit an invisible barrier.

"Damn it," he swore under his breath and tried moving forward again, but he still could not get to Dean. Looking around the room for the cause of the unusual phenomenon, Greg swore again when he spotted the thin ring of salt under the bed. Damn it! The boy was protected!

"Noooooooo!" Greg cried out in rage.

* * *

"What the…," Dean was rudely awaken by a loud blast. The door had been flung wide open, allowing the lights from the hallway to illuminate the room. Dean swept the semi-dark room with his eyes, poised for any signs of danger. Stinging cold wind blew into the room as the curtains fluttered against the broken window. It was as if someone had thrown something huge through the glass, which now lay shattered on the floor. The hell just happened?

"What the hell?" The nurse echoed Dean's thought, and stood agape at the mess in the room.

Side-stepping the shards of glass, she crossed the room towards her patient, who wore the same look of surprise as she did, "You alright? What happened?"

"I don't know…," Dean shivered in the frosty air. Just his luck, why couldn't anything go smoothly for once? Of all the rooms in the hospital, he had to get the one which was haunted.

"Let's get you another room, it's minus five degrees outside," the nurse stated.

* * *

Greg returned to the morgue and flung a metal stand against the wall. The clanging of the stainless steel instruments with the tiled- floor echoed loudly throughout the sterile room. "Damn!"

He was pacing around the small autopsy room when he sensed something else in the room with him

"What's the matter buddy? Your plans didn't work out?"

Greg turned around and yelled at his fellow spirit, "No! I couldn't get to him! And now I'm running out of time. I need to stay here. How do I stay here?"

* * *

"Hey, excuse me. What happened? My brother was in this room yesterday," Sam pulled a male nurse aside rather forcefully and pointed to the door with a "Closed for maintenance" sign stuck to it.

"He's been moved, to the room at the end of this hallway," the nurse scowled as he brushed off Sam's fingers from his arm.

"I'm sorry, I was just worried," Sam apologized, and strode towards the end of the hallway.

He found Dean half-sitting in his new bed, watching the news on the tiny television. Dean looked no better than he did the night before, but at least he was alive and awake.

"Morning Dean," Sam handed a bag of books to Dean.

"Sam! I thought you weren't gonna…," a smile lit up Dean's pallid features.

"Yeah well, you thought wrong. Jess is visiting her friends in town, and she said she'll drop by later," Sam sat down next to the bed. "What's on the news?"

"Same old, people killing each other and stuff. Monsters I get, people? People are crazy." Dean pulled out a Stephen King novel from the bag and grimaced, "What's this, Sam?"

"It's a book, Dean! You should try reading one sometime," Sam rolled his eyes, "I thought you'd be bored."

"Hey, I read!" Dean defended, "Besides, I don't think I'd be bored here. I think there's something in the hospital, Sam."

"Something?" Sam asked, "By the way, what happened to your room?"

"I think there's something weird going on here, our kind of weird. I woke up last night and the window was broken into a million pieces," Dean explained.

"Well, maybe someone threw a stone or something. Why, you think it's a spirit?"

"What the hell, Sammy? It's level 8 here! What did college do to your brain?" Dean stared incredulously at his brother, "and yeah, I think it's a spirit. An angry one, I could feel it."

"Okay, so what you gonna do about it? Call dad for help?" Sam frowned. He was just starting to live a normal life. The last thing he wanted would be to be involved in the hunting business again.

"Dad's busy. It's just an angry spirit, we can deal with it by ourselves," Dean tossed the offending bag of books aside.

"Dean! You can barely stand on your own and now you want to hunt? You're impossible, you know that?" Sam returned the incredulous stare.

"You got your laptop? I need to do some research," Dean sighed. He was not feeling up to doing anything, not to say hunting, but something was in the hospital, and he had to take care of it before anyone got hurt.

"Dean, what you need to do right now is take it easy. And you're not going to find anything, it's a damn hospital! People die here all the time!"

"I got to do something!"

"Can't we just…just let this go for once? Maybe it's not something supernatural at all. Maybe it's not going to hurt anyone. Well, it didn't hurt you," Sam pleaded.

"Let it go?" Dean let out a bitter laugh. Did his brother hate hunting that much? That he would rather turn a blind eye and let innocent people get hurt? Well, good for him. Dean could never do that. His conscience would not let him.

"Just give me the damn laptop."

"No."

"Sam."

"No."

"I mean it, Sam."

"No, Dean. You want it? You'll have to get it by yourself," Sam threw his bag onto the empty bed, which was at the other end of the room from where Dean's was.

Dean regarded Sam's smug features for a moment, before he tossed the blankets off himself and swung his legs out of the bed.

"You stubborn jerk!" Sam watched in horror as his brother get even paler than he already was. This was obviously the wrong tactic to get Dean to stand down.

"Screw you, Sam," Dean spoke through gritted teeth. His abdomen had not been pleased by the change in position, neither had his chest nor his head. There was no way he was going to stand up and make it to the laptop on his own. Sure, he could probably do a slow crawl but all he wanted to do now was curl up into a ball and scream for the pain to stop.

"Stop it, Dean! Get back in your bed," Sam caught Dean by his shoulders as he pitched forwards, seconds away from face planting onto the floor. Dean was drenched in sweat even though his skin was cold to the touch.

Sam shook his head in defeat as he put his brother back to where he belonged. He dropped his bag onto Dean's lap, "Fine. You win."

"Dean?" Sam placed his hand on Dean's shoulder when he did not respond, his body still tensed and eyes tightly shut.

"Get off me, Sam," Dean warned.

Sam retracted his hand. Great, Dean was mad at him. He was used to being around an angry John, but he usually steered clear of an angry Dean. Even John treaded carefully around his eldest when he was in a bad mood.

"I'm going to go grab a bite at the cafeteria. You want anything?" Sam tried again. He was not expecting any response and was not surprised when Dean ignored him completely.

Sam threw his hands up in the air. Fine! Dean could do whatever he wished. Sam could not be bothered anymore. All he wanted was for his brother to take care of himself for a change, but Dean was a stubborn jerk and when he made up his mind about something, there was no stopping him. Sam walked out the door and proceeded down the hallway, coming to a stop outside Dean's previous room. What if Dean was right? People could get hurt. Dean could get hurt. As strong as Sam's reluctance was to be hunting again, he could not help but approached the nurses' station just beside the elevators.

"Hey, umm…I'm Sam, Dean's brother," Sam jerked his thumb towards Dean's room, "I was wondering if anyone saw what happened last night? Dean was talking about the window being broken, sounded pretty weird to me."

"Ellen was the one on duty last night," a brunette answered, "right, Ellen? You were here when the window thing happened. Sam here, wants to know what happened." She called for Ellen, who looked up from a form she was filling up.

"What? Yeah, I was. I was here, at the desk doing some paperwork, when I heard a loud crash coming from Mr Winchester's room. The door was opened too, so I ran to check on him. I found glass shattered on the floor…"

"Anything like this ever happened before?" Sam enquired.

"Nothing like that, boy. I've been here for years," a nurse of retirement-age joined in the conversation.

"Tell him about the figure," the brunette interrupted.

Ellen looked at her colleagues uncomfortably and pursed her lips.

"What figure? You can tell me anything, Ellen," Sam encouraged.

"I don't know what I saw. It was late and I was tired," Ellen shook her head, "I thought I saw a shadow. It must be nothing, really."

"You never saw this shadow in the hospital before, have you? And there have never been any such occurrences before Dean?" Sam did not like where this was going.

"No, it's been pretty peaceful over here, until last night of course," the older nurse spoke up again.

"Alright. Thanks a lot for your help," Sam nodded earnestly. The incident had something to do with Dean somehow, but why? Why would Dean be targeted by a spirit, or whatever that shadow was?

* * *

Dean cracked open an eye and was dismayed to find the room empty, he had not seen Sam in a year and the last thing he wanted to do was to fight with his brother. He eyed Sam's laptop on his bed. Maybe later, maybe after his short nap.

The nap turned out to be longer than he expected. When he opened his eyes again, the room was already bathed in the orangey glow of the setting sun.

"Shit, Dean," Dean reproached himself. His fingers brushed against a piece of paper tucked under his pillow:

_Dean, you needed the rest so I didn't wake you up. Jess dropped by too, and she said hi, and bye. Anyway, don't bother with the research, you won't find anything, I tried. But I left you the laptop, just in case you get bored and needed something to do._

_I asked around, the nurses said nothing like that ever happened before. One of them saw a shadow in the room when it happened. I think whatever it was, it may be after you. Can't seem to stay out of trouble huh, bro? I salted the room, and left dad a message. You should be safe for the night. We'll take care of it. You just stay in that bed and don't do anything stupid until I'm back in the morning. I'm going to sell the impala for parts if you hurt yourself again. You'll never see your car again._

_Please, Dean. I'm serious._

_Sam_

Dean chuckled as he read the ugly scrawl that was his brother's handwriting. Sam was such a girl sometimes. A letter, really? He was less than eager to get out of bed anyway. Dean spotted his duffel, which was sitting on the left side of the bed. Sam must have brought that in when he was sleeping. He slotted the paper into the bag and grinned when he found that Sam had also packed his gun, knife, and iron rounds.

"Time for dinner!" Dean jumped as a cheery orderly pushed a cart into the room. He zipped the duffel and threw it onto the chair beside the bed, wincing when the weapons made a clanking sound as it landed.

"Wow, what you got in there? Guns?" the orderly joked and dragged the overbed table towards Dean.

'What? No," Dean laughed nervously.

The orderly moved the chair and duffel out of the way, and positioned the table just above Dean's lap. None of the occupants in the room was aware that the table's wheels had just created a break in the salt line under the bed. The orderly plonked the plate of food onto the table and beamed at Dean's disgusted expression.

"Enjoy your meal, buddy."

* * *

"Oh gross," Dean pushed his half-finished dinner aside.

He gasped when the door, which was left ajar, close with a click. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees and Dean was sure that something was in the room with him. He tensed, bracing for any hint of trouble. Dean flicked a longing look towards his duffel, which the orderly had moved away from him. Damn it. He contemplated walking over to the weapons he so needed at the moment, but he remembered the note that Sam left him. Sam salted the room, whatever it was, it would not be able to get to him.

"What do you want? You son of a bitch!" Dean taunted.

At his remark, the duffel was thrown against the wall while the chair that held it was flung against the door, positioned under the door handle so that it was stuck close.

"Shit," Dean searched around for something to defend himself with. Pillow? No, that's ridiculous. Glass of water? Spirits are not afraid of that. Remote control? What the hell? There was absolutely nothing useful within his reach.

"What do you want?" Dean repeated.

Dean pressed his palms over his ears as letters were scratched onto wall with a loud screeching noise.

_YOU KILLED ME._

"What?" Dean frowned at the words. Who did he kill?

He groped under his covers for his phone. His phone, where was it? There it was. Punching in Sam's number with shaking fingers, Dean was about to raise the phone to his ear when an invisible hand clamped down onto his wrist and slammed it onto the overbed table.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cried out in pain as his wrist connected with the hard wood. Something in his wrist cracked as the phone slit out of his palms and dropped onto the floor. Hold on a minute! How did the spirit get pass the salt!

Dean tried to pry his injured wrist out of the spirit's hand, and felt an icy grip close around his neck. The grip tightened into a chokehold.

"Ugh," Dean fought weakly against the invisible assailant's death grip. He knew that he was losing the battle to stay conscious. He was so screwed. His lungs burned as his vision blurred. He was going to die. What was he going to die for by the way? Flailing around in agony, Dean swept his hands over the glasses and jugs on the bedside table, and they crashed loudly onto the floor.

"Hello? Is everything alright in there? Dean? Open the door?" someone knocked on the door, and tried the door handle aggressively.

Everything was not alright, idiot! A tear escaped his eye as his body went lax and he lost consciousness.

* * *

Uh oh. But don't worry, I would never, in my right mind, kill off Dean.  
Stay tuned! Next chapter would be up next weekend.

-Kelsie


	5. The Aftermath

"Hello? Dean?" Sam held his phone to his ear. There was a lot of static on the other end of the line, and then he heard things crash onto the floor.

"Dean!" Sam's heart was thudding loudly in his chest. Dean was in trouble.

"Sam?" Jess asked as she stared daggers at the other patrons in the restaurant, who had turned their heads towards the two of them.

"We've got to get back to the hospital," Sam jumped up from his seat and rushed out of the restaurant.

* * *

It took three tries for Jose to knock the door off its hinges with his weight. Once he was through, Jose stopped for a second as he took in the state of the room. Things were all over the place, as if a fight had taken place. But there was no one else in the room, except for the patient that lay unconscious on the bed.

"I need help in here!" Jose shouted at the top of his lungs as he approached Dean. There were angry red marks around his throat. Someone had tried to strangle him.

"Dean? Dean? Are you with me?" Jose checked Dean over. He did not find a pulse nor was Dean breathing at all.

"Hey! What took you guys so long! I've got possible strangulation over here. Airways are still open but I got no pulse, no breathing," Jose shouted again as his colleagues filed into the room while he was doing chest compressions.

"Damn Jose, what happened here? Did you see the attacker?"

"What? No, there wasn't anyone in the room when I busted in!"

* * *

Sam leapt out of the cab before it came to an absolute stop outside the hospital. Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! He should not have left Dean alone, especially when he knew that something was after him. Sam sprinted up the stairs and towards Dean's room and took in the flurry of activity around his brother.

"What's going on? Is Dean alright?" Sam advanced towards Dean when he was held back by Ellen.

"Sam, you have to stay outside."

"What? No! Dean…"

"You need to stay out of our way so that we can help Dean, alright? Stay outside the room, please."

Sam moved forward again as they started to wheel Dean out of the room, "What's going on? Can somebody just tell me what the hell is going on?"

"We're taking him to radiology right now, are you coming with?"

"Yes, yeah I'm coming," Sam replied. Of course he was going. And why would nobody tell him what the hell was going on exactly? Sam threw his girlfriend a glance over his shoulder before following the covey down the hallway.

* * *

Jess surveyed the mess in Dean's room after Sam left with the doctors. There were pieces of glass strewn all over the ground and the chair was overturned beside the door. She bent down to pick up Dean's phone, and spotted the line of white grains under the bed. There was a disruption in the line where the wheels of the overbed table had rolled through. What was that? Looked like salt?

Jess encountered the same line of white grains on the windowsill as she proceeded to pick up Dean's duffel. She dropped the duffel on Dean's bed and returned to the window. Jess picked up a few grains with her fingers. Definitely salt, but why were salt scattered all around the room?

"Sam?" Jess answered her vibrating phone.

"Hey, Jess? Could you help me pick up Dean's duffel? I uh…I'm afraid that it'll be misplaced when they clean up the room. I don't know how long I'm going to be here, you should go back to the hotel first," Sam sighed.

"Sam Winchester?" Sam heard his name being called.

"I have to go. Thanks Jess," Sam hung up as a nurse called him over.

"How's Dean? Why hasn't anyone told me anything yet?"

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I'm Jose, the nurse who found your brother earlier. I didn't see anyone in the room, but we believe that he was attacked."

"Attacked? How?"

"There were signs of strangulation. Dean wasn't breathing when I found him, but he was resuscitated. We are doing an x-ray and a CT scan to determine if there is any damage done to his neck structures or to his brain."

"But how is he? Is Dean going to be okay?"

"He has not woken up yet, but we won't be able to tell you much, not until the scans come back. I should inform you that we have already notified the police." The cops would not be able to come up with anything, Sam was sure of that.

"Who'd want to hurt your brother?"

"No idea," Sam shrugged. That was what he was going to find out, and whatever it was, it was going to pay for what it did to Dean. Screw quitting the hunting business.

* * *

Horns blared as the vehicle swerved into the opposite lane. Dean woke up just in time to avoid the head-on collision. Blinking away the flash blindness from the headlights of the car that he had almost hit, Dean groaned. John was going to give him crap about falling asleep on the wheel again. He turned over to the passenger side, surprised to find it occupied by empty beer bottles.

"What the hell?" Dean realized that he was driving an old, rusty Ford pick-up. The dim interior of the truck was illuminated slightly by each passing streetlight. Why was he driving this piece of crap instead of his baby? The last thing he remembered…Wasn't he at the hospital?

Dean grabbed the small photograph that hanged from the rear view mirror. It was a photograph of two teenage girls at the beach, who looked too alike to be unrelated. Dean turned the photograph around and the words "Elise, Jane, 20 November 2010" scribbled at a corner. Who?

Dean was not sure where he was heading. When he took the next turn, he saw the impala parked on the opposite lane. Hey! His baby!

Wait a minute! This was the place they had stopped to re-stock their supplies! This was where the truck…

Dean stepped down hard onto the brakes when he saw his own petrified face staring right back at him, but it was too late. He cringed as he watched himself get hit and thrown against the windshield. The pain of being hit was still fresh on his mind. Before he knew it, Dean was propelled forward as the head of the truck hit something solid, and for a split second, Dean noticed that he was not wearing a seat belt.

Right before his head connected with the windshield, everything went black. For a second or two, at least, before Dean heard horns blaring, and he opened the eyes to the bright, white light.

"Son of a bitch!" he steered back to his lane on the road. What? Why was this happening all over again?

* * *

Sam rubbed his sore neck, a result of sleeping in a chair for the whole night. He was disappointed to find Dean still unconscious, like he had been ever since the attack. Dean was now attached to monitors, had an oxygen mask over his face, and was sporting a new cast on his right wrist. His neck was also decorated with purplish bruises which stood in stark contrast with his pale skin.

"Sam."

"Dad," Sam watched as his father claimed the other chair in the room.

"How is he?"

"He's still not awake yet."

"What are the doctors saying?"

"There's some swelling around his throat, but unless it gets worse, he's going to be fine. They didn't find anything in the scans to explain the coma, though. He should be awake by now," Sam willed his brother to open his eyes, "but he isn't."

"I think it's the spirit, dad. It must have done something to him," Sam yawned and ran his hand through his hair.

"You've been here the whole night? You should go back to your hotel and get some proper sleep."

"No, dad! We need to find this spirit and destroy it! Who knows what it's doing to Dean?" Sam reasoned, raising his voice.

"You're no good to Dean if you're dead on your feet. I'll see what I can find out from here. Go," John argued. He hoped that they were not going to start fighting again, but maybe Dean would then wake up and tell them both to shut the hell up.

Sam thought it over for a second before he nodded.

"Yeah, okay. Call me if he wakes up," Sam stretched and dragged his aching body out of the room.

* * *

"No! No! No!" Dean cussed and hit the steering wheel.

It was the two hundredth time that Dean had woken up in the same truck.

"Daaaaad!"

The doors still refused to budge.

"Please. Make it stop," Dean pleaded.

The glass still refused to break.

"Saaaaam!"

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it!  
The Winchesters never got off anything easy huh? Poor them.**

**And since I have already started writing for the next chapter, here's the synopsis:  
****John and Sam finds a clue about the spirit's plan and how to help Dean.  
****Will they be able to save Dean, or will he be trapped in 'Groundhog Day' world forever?**

**-Kelsie**


	6. The Revelation

Back at the hotel, Sam studied the white ceiling above his head. He was exhausted, but he could not sleep, not with Dean still in a coma. Jess had gone out for breakfast, and Sam was all alone in the room. He should have stayed in the hospital.

Sam was bored of the ceiling-staring after a while, and he started fiddling with his phone. Huh. He did not realize that he had saved the call he got from Dean at the restaurant yesterday. He pressed play, and held the phone to his ear.

* * *

By the time Jess got back, Sam had listened to the phone call for the tenth time, trying to decipher what sounded like a voice among the static, a voice that did not belong to his brother.

"What are you doing? Aren't you going to sleep?"

"Jess. Listen to this, tell me what you can make out," Sam handed her the phone.

"What…is…that?" Jess was trying her best to hear pass the loud static.

"Bad reception," Sam shrugged.

"I think I hear it…sounds like a guy…"

"What's he saying?"

"Killed? Killed me? And...Jane? Elise? Without a father? Sam?" Jess looked at Sam with a look of horror on her face. The call was giving her the creeps. What was that all about?

"Yeah, that's what I thought I heard too," Sam flipped open his laptop and typed the keywords into the search engine.

"Huh," he uttered when he found what he was looking for: An obituary of a single father Greg Taylor, 45, leaving behind two teenage daughters Jane and Elise Taylor. Died three days ago, the same day that Dean's accident had happened.

Sam dug further, and found the police report: The drunk driver, Greg Taylor, was pronounced dead at the scene. He lost control of the vehicle after hitting a pedestrian. Yahtzee! The body was sent to the hospital Dean was in!

"Um…Sam? Is this legal? And what is all this about? You're scaring me." Sam was startled when Jess spoke up over his shoulder.

"Jess, this is important. I'll explain later, alright? I promise. I need to get back to the hospital now, I have something I need to tell my dad," Sam started dialing his father's number.

* * *

John just sat and watched his eldest, watched his chest rise and fall with each breath. Ever since Mary died, John had spent too much time hunting, and too little time being a father to his boys. John had started off with wanting to avenge his wife's death, to protect his boys, but now, he was not sure if he had made the right choice. After twenty years, he still had no real leads on the thing that killed Mary, and Sam and Dean seemed to be getting hurt all the time.

"I'm sorry, Dean," John rubbed a calloused hand over his scruffy face. Sorry for not being a good father, sorry for their way of living, sorry for the constant bickering with Sam. The least he could do for Dean now was to find and destroy the bastard that tried to kill his boy.

John flipped open his ringing phone and frowned at the Caller ID. Sam?

"Dad!"

"Sam, what's wrong?"

"I found something Dad! I think I know who attacked Dean!"

* * *

"So where is the body now?" John asked.

"That's the weird thing. I already checked with the hospital morgue. The body was transferred to the funeral home and cremated yesterday afternoon, before Dean was attacked. The spirit must have something here, in the hospital, to tie it to this place. But what exactly?" Sam was baffled.

"And what did it do to Dean," John sighed. How were they going to destroy the spirit?

"Dad, what do we do now?"

"I don't know, Sam. I'll make a few calls, see if anyone knows anything," John hated it when he had no idea what he was dealing with. He grabbed his phone and went out of the room.

"Dean, if you can hear me, just hang on in there, alright? We'll get you out of this. I'll get you out of this. Just…don't give up," Sam snorted, "You can't just leave me and dad here, we'll kill each other, you know that. We need you, Dean."

"I know you probably don't remember what you said to me in my apartment that night, but I just want to say that I'm sorry. I never realised how much it bothered you when dad and I don't get along. Okay, you know what? I'll make you a deal. You wake up and I'll never fight with dad again. Deal?" Sam smiled sadly.

* * *

"Ghosts. Your family hunts monsters. You hunt monsters," Jess tried to wrap her mind around what Sam had just told her.

"I know, I don't blame you if you don't believe me," Sam chuckled humorlessly.

"And Dean was attacked by a ghost," Jess echoed Sam's words, "Wow. Um…this…you're serious, aren't you?"

Sam buried his face in his hands. Telling the truth was never easy.

"Are you trying to dump me?"

"What? No! No, Jess! You wanted the truth, this is the truth. This is my life!" Sam defended.

Jess studied Sam's face for a moment before speaking, "Alright, I think you are telling the truth. So this can only mean two things, either you're crazy, or monsters do exist. Say Dean was really attacked by a ghost, what's going to happen to him?"

"Honestly, I don't know," Sam said quietly.

"This is so messed up, Sam. I don't know what to think right now."

* * *

It was not until the next morning when John got a call from one of the hunters he had contacted.

"Bobby? Tell me you've got something," John waited.

"Well, I've got something. There's this old hoodoo spell, if a spirit knows its stuff, it can bind itself to someone, like how spirits are bound to objects or its own bones," Bobby explained.

"Like a possession?" It was the first time that John had heard of this.

"Not really. A spirit that possesses people needs something to bind them to earth, and once we salt and burn their bones or the objects, they're gone. But with this spell, the person that they are bound to acts like the spirit's own bones."

"So you think that the spirit has latched onto Dean? But how do we get rid of it then? We can't salt and burn Dean! And the spell is the reason why he's still not awake?" John paced the small motel room.

"Hmm…" Was all Bobby said, and John could hear him flipping through a book.

"This doesn't make sense, Bobby! The spirit's only a few days old. And he was just a regular guy! I bet the only time that son of a bitch ever came across the word Hoodoo was when he's sitting in front of a TV!" John raised his voice

"Don't you yell at me, Winchester! It must have some help then, a hoodoo priest spirit mentor? Figure it out!" Bobby took a deep breath before continuing, "Anyway, this is the only theory that fits. Once a spirit is bound to a person, it can take control of a person's mind. I bet the spirit has trapped Dean in his mind, and he can't snap out of it."

"So how do we undo the spell?"

"This is a really powerful spell, the only way to destroy the spirit is to...you're not going to like it, but you have to…" Bobby wished that he was not the one conveying the information to John.

John stayed silent for a minute. Singer did not just suggest that.

"There must be another way. We're not even sure that it'll work," John did not like the plan at all. There were too much uncertainties, too big a risk to take.

"Look, I don't like it either, but this may be our only shot. I'm not seeing any other way out here," Bobby sighed.

"Damn it! Fine," John conceded after a moment's contemplation. Singer was right, it might be their only shot.

"I'll be there with the supplies we need for the ritual by tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, Singer," John said. He was well aware that Bobby Singer hated his guts. The last time they met each other, it ended with Singer pointing a shotgun at his head.

"I'm not doing this for you, John. I'm doing it for Dean," Bobby said gruffly and hung up.

* * *

Dean stopped fighting. There was no escape out of this never-ending loop. He had tried everything, from destroying the truck to stabbing himself to death with a broken beer bottle. No matter what he did, he would end up in the crash, then wake up inside the truck, and the cycle never ceased.

Dean closed his eyes and curled up on the driver's seat, with his knees drawn up to his chest. The truck was driving itself, like it always did when Dean tried to turn the other way, or when he stopped driving altogether. He wrapped his hands around his legs, waiting for the sickening thud and the crash that would bring him back to the beginning all over again.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry," Dean whispered.

"It's your fault. This is all your fault. You killed me," came the usual response.

"Yes. Yes, it's my fault. I killed you, I'm sorry," Dean admitted.

"Yeah, you should be sorry," Greg snickered.

"Just kill me already. Please," Dean begged for relief.

"Not yet, boy. Not yet."

* * *

"So did Bobby tell you how do we help Dean?" Sam asked as John filled him in on his conversation with the other hunter.

"Yeah, he did. We have to perform a ritual, and then we have to kill Dean," John waited for the outburst.

"Come again?" Sam must have misheard his father. What did dad just say? They would have to do what?

"We have to stop Dean's heart. This is the only way to destroy the spirit," John repeated himself.

"This is freaking insane! You're out of your mind! What if he doesn't…," Sam stared at his father disbelievingly.

"It's the only way to save your brother."

"Dean just had freaking heart surgery! And he's heart stopped for the second time this week when he was attacked! We can't be sure that he could…" Sam trailed off.

"He will survive this Sam. He is strong enough, besides, we have no choice. We'll do it in the hospital, to be safe."

"Safe? You got to be kidding me. This is insane," Sam reiterated.

* * *

**The next chapter would be the penultimate chapter of this story:  
Would Dean survive the ritual and come out of the coma, or will it be his true death that provides him relief from the torturous loop?  
**

**Fanfics with out-of-character characters never fail to make me cringe.  
I was just wondering if I have written this story in the way that is true to the characters.  
I can't really criticize my own work, because, hey, I would only put up work that I believed that I had done my best.  
Any criticisms are welcomed! **

**-Kelsie**


	7. The Ritual

Bobby knocked and entered Dean's room.

"Sam!" He was expecting to find John alone with Dean. Bobby pulled Sam into a hug and noticed the unfamiliar face in the room.

"Thanks for coming, Bobby. Oh, and this is Jess, my girlfriend," Sam introduced, "Jess, this is our uncle, Bobby."

"Your girlfriend's going to be here when we do it?" Bobby whispered.

"I told her everything Bobby," Sam nodded, "do we really have to do this?"

"From what I know, yes, we have to. The spell started with the spirit killing Dean, and to break it, we have to do the same," Bobby started to unpack his bag.

"Alright then, what's the plan?" Bobby rubbed his hands together when everything was set out on the table.

"We do the ritual, and then we give him this," John held up a syringe filled with colorless liquid, "Potassium chloride."

"Here goes nothing," Sam nodded apprehensively.

* * *

Jess pulled Sam aside, "Sam, Ghosts are one thing. But hoodoo spells and rituals? This is nuts. You're about to kill your own brother!" And she was going to be an accomplice in the murder.

"I know this is nuts, even for us. Trust me Jess, we're won't be doing this if it wasn't necessary. This is the only way to help Dean," Sam replied, "you don't have to stay here, you know."

"I told you, I'm not going anywhere."

"Sam, the door," John instructed.

"It'll be alright, Dean's strong enough," Sam was not sure who he was reassuring, Jess or himself.

* * *

Dean wondered how long it had been since he had been stuck in this god-awful world. It felt like months. He thought about dad and Sam. Wherever dad and Sam were, they must be working on destroying Greg, but whatever they were planning to do, they better hurry. Dean did not know how long he has left, before Greg got bored and decided to kill him after all.

He had been frightened, confused, angry, and depressed, but now, he felt nothing. Dean just watched the scene play out in front of his eyes, emotionless, waiting for the end to come, or for help, whichever came first. So this was what it felt like to accept one's fate.

* * *

Bobby finished the incantation and threw the last of the herbs into the small fire contained in a metal bowl.

"Okay, now for the last part," Bobby wiped his forehead nervously.

John uncapped the syringe and picked up Dean's IV line.

As if on cue, the bowl of herbs was swept off the table by an invisible force. Bobby managed to duck in time to avoid being hit.

"Behind you, Sam!" John shouted but Sam swung his iron crowbar around a second too late.

Jess froze as chaos ensued.

Sam was knocked down onto the ground by a shadow that appeared out of thin air behind him. At the same time, John was flung against the wall when he tried to finish the ritual. Jess watched dumbfounded as Bobby dispersed the shadow with his crowbar, and she was still rooted to the ground when John shouted.

"Do it now! Jess!" John pointed to her feet.

Jess noticed that the syringe was right in front of her. It was hard enough to have to watch, but now she had to be the one to push the plunger?

"Now!" Sam yelled as he pushed Jess out of the way.

He swung the crowbar at the shadow, which had materialized right behind her. Jess fell hard over Dean's bed. She did not need any more urging. Jess slotted the needle into Dean's line, and took a deep breath before depressing the plunger fully.

Jess stared the empty syringe in her hand. What had she done?

Before she could react, Jess felt herself being lifted into the air and crashed down hard onto the ground.

* * *

"No! Jess!" Sam sprinted and threw a handful of salt at the shadow. He crouched over Jess' limp body protectively and waited for the spirit to appear again.

John and Bobby stood at each side of Dean's bed, poised for the next attack.

A few seconds of silence passed without anyone moving. What broke the silence next were the frantic beeping from the machines. Sam let out a breath of relief. The spirit was gone.

But that also meant that Dean was dead.

Sam picked up the syringe and shoved it into his pocket, right before the door flew open, before the nurses and doctors started filling the room. Dad and Bobby were being confronted by one of the nurses, but Sam could not hear anything over the commotion of the machines and the crowd around Dean's bed.

"PEA, no pulse, no breathing," a doctor shouted.

Dean! His brother's heart had stopped, for the third time this week.

"Judging by the EKG…huh, that's weird. I'd say it's hyperkalemia. I swear I just checked on him an hour ago, there was nothing," another doctor replied.

"Sir?"

Hands were trying to loosen his grip around Jess. He held on tighter.

Jess! Oh god, he should not have let her come.

Two security guards joined in the quarrel between Dad, Bobby and the nurse.

"Sir!"

"Huh?" Sam snapped out of his reverie.

"You have to let us help her. Are you alright?" Sam focused his gaze on the nurse.

"I'm…yeah," Sam nodded.

"The drugs are not working, still no pulse."

"Take her to exam room 5."

"Hey you listen to me, that's my boy over there! The hell I'm going anywhere!"

"Nope, still nothing, how long has it been?"

"5 minutes."

"We got to do haemodialysis."

"Okay, started."

What if the doctors could not bring him back? Maybe they had made the wrong decision, Dean might have been better off in a coma than dead. Sam closed his fist around the syringe in his pocket. And Jess, she would probably blame herself for Dean's death.

"Come on Dean," Sam prayed.

Jess, she was hurt. Where was Jess? Sam recalled that she was taken care of by the nurses.

"10 minutes."

Dean. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Dean was still not responsive to whatever they were doing.

"Get your hands off me, you son of a bitch," John roared as one of the security guards tried to escort him outside.

Sam recognized that tone. Bobby's hold on John was the only reason why the security guard was not on the ground right at the moment.

"Hey, I got a pulse!"

* * *

The next few hours passed in a blur.

Sam stood by with his father and Bobby while Dean was subjected to a series of tests and scans. Little did they know that the answer that they have been looking for was right inside Sam's pocket all this while. When Dean was finally brought back to his room, a ventilator was jammed down his throat and he was connected to even more tubes and wires. "To help his body heal." The doctor had said.

Why did his brother have to get the short end of the stick every time?

* * *

Jess was quiet during the journey back to the hotel.

"Jess," Sam started.

"Not now, Sam. I'm tired, I just want some time alone. Don't worry about me, I'm fine. Just go back and stay with your brother," she said before closing the door in his face.

* * *

Bobby stayed behind with John in the hospital. He should have been on the way back hours ago, as a hunter just called, in need of his help. He wanted to make sure Dean was okay. Uncomfortable silence filled the room as the two men deliberated over what to say.

"Bobby, look," John was the first to speak, "I owe you one."

"You do realize that if you had not left him here and gone on your little road trip across the country, this would not have happened," Bobby chastised.

"Fred had leads on Mary's killer," John defended, "and Sam was here."

"You couldn't have waited for a few more days? Until Dean was strong enough to defend himself? Sam took a year off, he's bound to be rusty! And speaking of Sam, you haven't seen him for a year and the first thing you do was to leave. I really don't get what's going on in that head of yours. What's more important to you, Winchester? Revenge or family?" Bobby reprimanded.

"Don't tell me what to do, Singer. I'm not doing this for revenge, I'm doing all this to keep them safe. And nothing in the world can be more important than that," John rebutted hotly.

"Well, ain't you doing a great job on that. From the moment you started that selfish hunt of yours, you have already ruined their lives! You treated your sons like soldiers, and you have never gave them a choice. Do you think Mary would have wanted them to live like this?"

"I don't know what Mary wants, Singer. Because she's dead! That thing killed her! Sam and Dean needed to know what's really out there! They needed to know how to protect themselves!"

"Oh, lucky them! And congratulations Winchester, should I give you the Best Father of the Year award now? Just how long do you think is the average lifespan of a hunter?" Bobby got up and left the room before John could say more. Any longer in the room with Winchester, punches were going to start flying.

John's non-existent parenting skills never fail to infuriate him. Bobby loved those boys like his own, and seeing them get hurt repeatedly breaks his heart. He left a message for Sam and not long after, put the hospital in his rear view mirror.

* * *

Any second now. Any second, he would hear the horns again.

Dean counted to ten and still, nothing. It could mean three things. One, he was dead; Two, Greg came up with something new; or three, Greg was gone. Dean did not dare to move a muscle. Any movement might shatter this perfect nothingness.

Dean heard someone cough beside him. And was he lying on his back? He was definitely not in the truck anymore, but he was afraid to believe that he was really out. Anytime now, he clenched his fists and waited.

"Dean?"

Sam? This must be a trick.

"Greg you son of a bitch, stop toying with me and just get me back to the damn truck. Better yet, just kill me already!" Dean yelled in his head.

A warm hand closed around his tightly-clamped fingers. This was not real. Sam was not real.

"Dean, are you with me? Open your eyes," Sam coaxed.

Not real. Not real. Not real. He was afraid to be hopeful.

"Dean, come on. I know you're awake."

Sam was starting to sound impatient. Alright, maybe that was really Sam. Did that mean that he was out?

Dean cracked open his right eye, and piercing bright light filled his vision. He groaned and held his hand over his eyes. The headlights! He knew it!

"Hang on. Sorry, it's a little bright in here," He heard Sam said, and the sounds of a curtain being drawn followed.

Sam was still there. No horns. Not headlights? Sunlight. Dean had not seen sunlight in what seemed like ages. This was really happening, he was out.

Dean finally opened his eyes, and there Sam was, peering down at him with a stupid grin on his face.

"Sam," Dean wanted to say, but what came out was an inaudible rasp. It was painful to talk, but apart from his raw throat, he felt marginally better than the previous time he woke up. It must have been days.

Dean looked around the room, he was finally out of the loop.

"Dad went back to the motel for a quick shower, he'll be here soon. It's so good to see you awake, Dean. It has been a long week," Sam lifted a cup with a straw.

Dean winced as he swallowed the cool water. He was out for a week? That was a new record.

"Are you hurting anywhere? Your throat? Yeah, that's expected, since they just took out your vent yesterday," Sam explained.

He was on a ventilator? Of course he was not aware of that, he had been spending his time in that truck the entire time. Speaking of which, what happened to Greg?

Sam spotted the confused look on Dean's face and asked, "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Truck," Dean blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

It was obviously the wrong thing to say, as it made Sam frown in concern. He must have thought that Dean meant the actual accident. Dean shook his head gently.

"No. I mean Greg," he croaked, "What happened?"

"You were attacked by the spirit of the truck driver. Yes, Greg. It was some kind of spell, but we broke it with a ritual," Sam summarized.

"Spell?"

"Yeah, a binding spell, so that he could stay in the hospital and play mind games with you. What did he do to you, anyway? How are you feeling?"

"Ritual?" Dean shuddered when he thought about being trapped in his own mind. They broke the spell, did that mean Greg was gone or was he still lingering around, waiting for another opportunity?

"It didn't go as smoothly as I thought it would. Anyways, Greg's gone, he won't be coming after you anymore," Sam assured.

"You okay? Dad?"

"Dean, you're the one who's lying in a hospital bed," Sam rolled his eyes, "Dad's okay, I'm okay, Bobby's okay too. Jess was a little banged-up but she's fine too. By the way, Bobby told me to tell you to give him a call when you're awake."

"Jess? How's she? Bobby was here?"

"She'll be fine. Bobby helped us with the ritual. Actually, he was the one who figured it all out. You haven't answered my question, what did he do to you when you were, you know, comatose?" Sam sat down and waited.

"Huh? Dad came back?" Dean's mind was not working at full speed yet, "Wow. You, dad and Bobby in the same room and nobody got killed?"

"Yeah, we behaved ourselves. You sure you're feeling alright?" Sam was bemused at his confused brother.

Dean stopped and took an inventory of himself. He felt alright, physically, still tired and sore, but who wouldn't be, after getting hit by a truck and all. He was also a little on edge, frightened of being sucked back into that time loop.

"Yeah, I'm fine. He uh… he trapped me in some kind of replay, you know, like Groundhog day," Dean coughed.

"What did you see?"

"The accident," Dean was sure that after what he went though, he would never be able to forget what happened that night. If Greg had wanted to make an impression, he did a damn good job of it.

All the talking were tiring him out. How could he still be exhausted? He had practically slept the week away.

"So, uh…Can I leave now?"

"You're kidding. Of course not!"

* * *

**^PEA: Pulseless Electrical Activity  
** **Hyperkalemia: High levels of potassium in blood.**

**Next chapter will be up next weekend! The last chapter!**

**-Kelsie**


	8. The Talk

**Turns out I had some spare time this weekend to wrap this piece up!  
This is the last chapter****. Three words: Dean and John talk.**

* * *

"You ready to go? C'mon Dean, you've been in there for 5 minutes," John knocked on the washroom door.

Barely out of the hospital and his father's patience was already wearing thin. Dean was surprised that John had not suggested leaving him with Bobby or Sam while he took off to another hunt yet. John was always so adamant about not wasting any time.

"Dean?"

Dean sighed. He had spent five minutes fumbling around with dressing himself. The ordeal left him light-headed and drenched in sweat. Dean sat on the closed toilet to catch his breath, and groaned at the prospect of the spending the next few days alone with an annoyed John. He wished Sam was still here, but he had gone back to school with Jess, talking about tests and exams. Yeah well, whatever. Dean was used to being the only one who puts his family before anything else.

"Dean Winchester!"

"Alright, alright. I'm coming," Dean unlocked the door.

"Took you long enough. You okay?" He found his father with his duffel already on his shoulder and halfway through the door.

Dean nodded and followed behind.

"Where're we going?" Dean asked while he slid into the passenger side of the impala. He crossed his fingers and hoped that they were not going on another hunt yet.

"California."

"California? There's a hunt in California?" Dean shot John a quizzical look.

"We're going to stay with Sammy for a while, Dean. Why'd you think he went back so early? He wanted to clean up the house," John replied with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Dean did a double take. He thought that he had misheard his father.

"Sam? You never wanted to go to Stanford," Dean recalled the countless arguments he had with his father over visiting Sam at Stanford.

"I changed my mind," John shrugged, "You don't want to go? We can just stop at the next motel we see."

This was too good to be true. He knew it. John was dumping him with Sam so that he could hunt without Dean holding him back.

"You're going off again aren't you, once you drop me off at Stanford?" Dean turned away to stare out of the window. Typical John.

* * *

John glanced briefly at his son, but all he could see was the back of his head. Dean had appeared to be nonchalant about it, but John knew better. Dean was hurt. Of course he was, nobody liked being left behind. John was disappointed that his son would assume that of him, but he guessed he deserved it. John did have a habit of leaving Dean behind whenever he was injured or sick, so that he could continue saving people and hunting.

No wonder Singer hated his guts. Hell, he hated his own guts.

"Dean, no," John tried to explain. That was not his intention at all.

"Wake me up when we're there," Dean laid back and closed his eyes.

"As I was saying, no, I'm not going anywhere," John promised.

Dean opened one eye at the statement.

"It's okay dad, really. You can go wherever you want to. I'm not four anymore," he was unimpressed.

John could hear that his son meant exactly the opposite of what he said. John had noticed the hint of dejection every time he had left him at Jim's, or Bobby's, while he continued working. And every single time, he convinced himself that it was for Dean's own good.

"Do you really hate me that much, Dean?" John joked, although he would not be surprised if his son answered yes.

"What? No, I didn't mean...What? Why'd you say that?" He had Dean's full attention now.

"If you don't, why do you keep sending me away?"

"I'm not...It's just...that's what you always do," Dean stated.

John knew that it was true, but it still pained him to hear that aloud from his son. Bobby was right, he should have gotten an award, an award for the Worst Father of the Century. He made up his mind to make it up to his boys, but where does he even begin?

"I'm not going anywhere, not unless you want me to," John repeated.

"Why not?"

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"For what? Dad stop it, alright?" Dean looked worried.

"Look, I just want the three of us to spend some time together and you needed more time to heal, so we're going to Sam's."

Dean still looked unconvinced, as if John was going to bolt the second that he reach Stanford, "Whatever you want, dad."

"Dean, do you remember anything about the night of the accident?"

"Not much, I was out for the most of it. Why?"

"Do you remember seeing Sam?"

"What? Why would I? Sam only arrived the next evening, didn't he? Dad you're not making any sense. You okay?"

"No? Not in a dream or anything?" John prompted.

"A dream? No, wait. What...how did you know?"

John narrated what Sam had told him about Dean's late-night visit. Dean stayed silent even after John had finished.

"You're kidding," Dean finally responded, "but I don't remember any of that, just that it was a weird dream about Sam."

"I want to make things right, with you, with Sam."

Before it was too late, John added mentally. He had almost lost Dean. Sam too, when he told his youngest to never come back when he left for Stanford. And in this line of business, John was not sure of his own longevity either.

Dean stayed quiet and deep in thought for the next minute, before he started grinning widely.

"What?" John asked.

"Guess it was all worth it."

"What's worth it?" It was John's turn to be confused.

"You know, I should have tried walking in front of a truck sooner."

**THE END**


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